


Call of the Moon

by Tlern467



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Daedra, Gen, Gore, Ritual, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tlern467/pseuds/Tlern467
Summary: Eveli Treesing finds herself in over her head when she’s sent to investigate an active group of werewolves just outside of Whiterun.





	Call of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HyperPixie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HyperPixie).



Call of the Moon 

Mae’Jo shuddered in the cold of Whiterun’s streets.   
“This one did not expect it to be so cold!”   
Eveli Treesing smiled at her companion. The local populace didn’t seem to even notice them, drinking or hurrying from place to place to avoid the chill. It was certainly not like the verdant jungle of the Valenwood or the arid savannahs of Northern Elsweyr.   
This was a place where only the hardiest of survivors stayed, a gloom dusk echo of its former glory.   
Across the eastern edge of the Sea of Ghosts lay the mystical island of Solstheim. Many rumors came from that place: werewolves, even werebears and things best left to nightmare and imagination.   
But supposedly there had been murders and for the safety of the already fragile Coldharbor compact it was imperative that these murders be investigated quickly and discreetly. 

“Do you smell that?” Mae’Jo asked. He gestured. Eveli kept close to the broad shouldered Khajit. Finally he stopped well outside the city gates. Sure enough-a corpse. The blood was still fresh on the body. What was still left to identify was a Dunmer approximately age 40. Tufts of fur were all around the body. 

“No signs of resistance. Interesting,” the Khajit said. “We can assume this unknown Dunmer outside the city streets knew her murderer.”   
“The murderer had only recently gotten the disease. More mature werewolves don’t shed like this. I’d say he or she had it for two, three maybe four days. No longer than a week.”   
“Do they also smell like moon sugar piss and wet dog?”   
“Well, I can say definitely wet dog,” Eveli said. “This was done during daylight. It doesn’t make sense.”   
“Hmm,” the Khajit said, then shook his head. “Probably nothing.”   
Something about this mangled corpse screamed to her in warning. It certainly looked accidental, the Dunmer caught the werewolf at the wrong place wrong time. 

Yet something screamed at her instinctively this wasn’t what it seemed. They were too close to Solstheim. The time of day.   
But what choice did she have, even if this was a trap? She had to give the task force from both guilds time to strike back at Coldharbor, and for that they needed the assistance of the alliances.   
She looked up at her companion. Something about him didn’t feel right either, just a flicker of something before it was gone.   
There were tracks nearby, shifting at irregular intervals between great clawed feet and barefoot. Yet even these tracks felt wrong. The irregularity fit the pattern but-   
Mae’Jo stood and started to follow the tracks. Eveli did so as well a few paces behind. The tracks ended, this time with a grotesque homemade shrine to Hircine. Next to the shrine was the shredded and bloody carcass of whoever was unlucky enough to be bound here.   
Then the tracks shuffled away to the northern highlands ridged with hills and caves.   
Mae’Jo didn’t hesitate. 

The tracks stopped dead at a boarded up door on the cliff’s lower face.   
“This is the place, this one thinks,” Mae’Jo said. “You ready?”   
She supposed she was, but she couldn’t help but feel she was walking right into a trap.   
Mae’Jo pushed the door open and they crawled inside. The cave complex was a series of tunnels carved into the cliff. It smelled of pewter, sulfur, blood, sweat and wet dog. So much wet dog.   
They passed werewolves still in their forms impaled upon silver staves. But those were old, from another time. 

The tracks returned, along with it patches of fur. But the dropping of the fur was too regular now. It didn’t fit the pattern. 

Get out, get out now! The voice screamed in her head. She felt her heartbeat quicken.   
Mae’Jo turned to see why Eveli had stopped. “come on, Eveli. This one knows we’re close. They’re waiting for us.”   
Her breath chilled. How would he know that? No, that can’t be right-he had been assigned to her. Why would he betray her? None of this made any sense. 

But what choice did she have?   
She steadied herself and followed the Khajit’s lead. Everything around her seemed to tighten, like the gradual tightening of a noose. 

Finally they stepped into a wider circular room lit with torches.   
A Dunmer sat in a makeshift throne. Werewolves stood to either side of him.   
“Welcome Eveli,” the Dunmer said with a sly smile.   
She panicked and rushed to the exit, only to have Mae’Jo stand in her way.   
“The master has decided you are worthy of his gift.”   
“I serve Y’ffre. I serve the Eight Divines.”   
“Not for long.”   
She watched in horror while Mae’Jo transformed before her eyes and lunged at her with bared fangs. 

Eveli woke up a time later in a dark dank room. Her mages robes were gone. She was only wearing tattered linens smeared with blood stains.   
“Ah good, this one is glad you woke up. How do you feel?”   
“You bastard.”   
“Oh that’s not very nice,” Mae’Jo said. “Now that you are one of us you will go and follow the will of Hircine. He demands payment for their insolence.”   
“I told you before I’m a follower of Y’ffre,” she said.   
“Are you now? Let’s see if the moon has anything different to say.”   
Suddenly the room filled with silvery light.   
She felt herself changing, the mad whispers, the blood lust threatening to take hold and swallow her entirely.   
Noo! The last traces of Eveli shouted before the wild music of Hircine took control, the thrill of the hunt.   
And she was gone, disappeared into the last quiet recesses of her mind, away from the probing insistence of Hircine’s Hunt in her own mind.   
She had lost control to the very thing she hated and dreaded the most, and Hircine relished in that.   
You cannot hide from me forever, little girl, the Daedric prince whispered. I’ll enjoy this game of hide and seek but I am the master of the hunt. I will take what’s mine.


End file.
